


The End of the Antiquan Dynasty

by TheRoseDuelist



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Politics, Post-Epilogue: Xenoblade Chronicles Future Connected, Xenotober (Xenoblade Chronicles)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoseDuelist/pseuds/TheRoseDuelist
Summary: She awoke that day thinking it was like any other. Little did she know, it was the day it all fell apart.For Day 19 of Xenotober 2020. Prompt: Crisis.
Relationships: Melia Ancient | Melia Antiqua & Talco | Tyrea
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Xenotober 2020





	The End of the Antiquan Dynasty

**Author's Note:**

> I realize I'm late posting this. I'd written a draft of this a week and some ago, then read it on Monday to post and felt it was boring so I rewrote it. I think this version is much more exciting.

Blindsided. Shocked. Paralyzed.

She was all of them.

The din of voices circling her reached her ears, yet she did not register the words they said. They passed through like white noise, like the whispers of the wind.

She stared at the document on the table, uncomprehending. A calligraphy pen rolled into view, halting inches away from the edge. Still, she remained. Frozen. Gazing at the elegant cursive letters in the blackest ink.

One word jumped out:

_Failure._

It howled at her. Forced her attention, forced its meaning into her mind, and stabbed straight into her heart. A gaping wound that would not so easily be sutured, not so quickly healed.

Her hands gripped her skirts tight.

The voices grew louder, more agitated, however, the Empress still did not move. Hardly breathed.

_SLAM._

Melia's head snapped up. A High Entian male loomed down the table, his hand flat on its surface, spindly fingers spread, red from the impact.

"Sign it." He hissed. His eyes darkened, their piercing gaze shooting daggers straight at Melia.

She struggled to not look away. To not shrink from the violence in that glare.

"She will do no such thing." Melia glanced to her left where a High Entian female in all black curled her hand over the hilt of the blade at her side.

"The Empress will sign it. Or I will make her sign it."

"I'd like to see you try." Though the female smirked, there was a vicious glint in her eye Melia saw, something fierce, dying to be released.

Melia glanced back to the male, who clenched his jaw. Two High Entian attendants sat on either side of him, one trembled while the other rigid. At his mercy. Like he wished Melia to be.

"Then it shall be so." The male raised his hand and flicked his wrist.

A flash of movement from behind him caught Melia's eye. Four High Entian guards emerged from the shadows in the back. The silver of their uniforms gleamed harsh in the light, their faces stoic masks as they looked upon her. Cold eyes focused on her.

No sympathy. No kindness. Nothing.

This indifference...was this the prelude to hatred?

Her breath hitched in her throat. She glanced back at the parchment, the blank signature line at the bottom calling to her like a siren song.

"Melia, don't." The female warned.

"You're out of options." The male countered.

"She will never bow to you! You are nothing but a traitor to your kind!"

He leaned forward, his gaze turning sinister. "I suggest you yield before this negotiation becomes...uncivil."

"We have nothing more to discuss." From her pocket, the female lobbed a tiny, green ball into the air above them all. All eyes on this curious object.

It exploded.

Smoke filled the room. Melia coughed. It scratched at her throat. Her eyes stung.

Then she was being jerked out of the chair, tugged to her feet. "Melia, stun them!" The female shouted.

Adrenaline jolted her, sending her into overdrive. Melia summoned her ether, feeling the magic course through her veins. Familiar sensations draining away her emotions, leaving only the hum of power in its wake.

Extending her hand, she whispered, "Shadow Stitch". The smoke was too thick, the haze too dense, but she could hear the thuds of bodies hit the ground.

"Let's move." The female grabbed Melia's arm and hauled her out of the room.

They raced through the corridors of the Great Hall, passersby sliding quickly out of the way, startled by their haste. No one stopped them.

Melia stole a glimpse at one or two. The same stony indifference. None of the warmth she once was accustomed to only six months ago. When had that changed? When had they stopped greeting her in such a manner?

Her stomach turned.

"Where are we going, Tyrea?" Melia managed. The waver in her voice was unmistakable.

But her companion did not respond. She pulled Melia out of the main thoroughfare and down a twisty corridor that led into another darkened hall. At the end, she stopped and punched in her keycode for the airlift.

"Tyrea." Melia tried again. Her voice was high.

She hated it. Hated herself. Hated her weakness.

"Go to the Villa. Pack a bag and wait for me. I'll be there in ten minutes." Tyrea ordered. Then she turned on her heel and darted away.

The airlift zoomed to a stop and the doors opened with a ding. Stomach turning, Melia threw a look over her shoulder, but Tyrea had disappeared. She was alone.

Butterflies exploded in her stomach and she boarded the airlift, the doors sliding shut behind her. It shot straight into the sky, the tower of the Great Hall bleeding past her, mixing into colors of steel greys and navy blues and severe silvers. Utter silence coated the air. Thick and deafening.

The voices in her head answered in a clamor.

_Why?_

_How could this have happened? What had she done wrong?_

_Was it true? Did they hate her? Had she failed them?_

_Would it honestly be best if she just left and never came back?_

The airlift started to spin around her. Her eyes tried to focus on one single thing: the ceiling, the call buttons, the railing, the blue scratch on the metal floor. But they failed, darting from one destination to the next, frantic. The airlift continued streaming past floor after floor after floor, a smudge of color in her peripheral vision.

She gasped, struggling to breathe. Her chest hurt. Tightened. Her lungs heaved, desperate. Air. She needed air.

She tried again and again, but her breathing was ragged. Her throat raw. She tried to swallow. Couldn't. Her hands clutched the railing and squeezed.

Her heart pounded in her ears. The edges of her vision began to darken. She tried to breathe again, gulping for air. Anything. Just one breath.

The airlift slid to a stop. She stumbled, falling into the wall as the doors hissed open. Sweet sweet air wafted into the compartment. A gentle greeting.

Freedom.

Shoving herself off the railing, Melia launched out of the cell, towards the open space. She tripped and fell to her knees. Pain vibrated through her, but she didn't care. Instead, she took a deep breath. Forcing her lungs to work. Once, twice, three times.

Her heartbeat slowed. Her lungs expanded and contracted. Her chest relaxed. She was here. The wind kissed her skin, coaxing tendrils of her lavender hair to dance upon its breeze. She was safe. A bell rang out from the nearby tower. Melia looked up. She was only safe for now.

Ten minutes, that's what Tyrea had said. Now, it was seven.

She darted into the Imperial Villa. Her home. Her family's home. Her mother's home. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Melia forced it down, as she raced through the halls. There was no time to process.

Flinging herself into her room, Melia retrieved a suitcase and began collecting her possessions. A brooch from Kallian. Her mother's rings. Her father's journals. The mask she wore for her coronation ceremony. Item after item she threw into the bag, followed by a few items of clothing. If she was going to leave it all behind, she had to be certain she took everything that was of utmost importance. If she didn't, she would never forgive herself.

But could she forgive herself now? Was it not her fault she was even in this situation? Running from the place she called home?

A strangled sob erupted from her mouth as she forced herself to zip the bag closed. Grunting, she slung it over her shoulder and rushed back out to the courtyard. As she passed the doors of the rooms, memories of happier times flooded through her mind: her mother playing hide-and-seek with her, her father teaching her about the Antiquan family history, and Kallian joining her for endless tea parties.

What would they do with the rest of her family's things? Auction them off to the highest bidder? Dispose of it? Her family's legacy: gone. Thousands of years erased.

Her stomach cramped and bile rose in her throat. Her feet hit grass as she crossed the threshold of the Villa to the courtyard and she leaned to the side and vomited. Hot acid burned her esophagus as she emptied the contents of her stomach, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

No, she could not leave it this way.

A gush of air startled her and she watched as a small shuttlecraft descended into the courtyard. But Melia did not move towards it. Instead, she remained rooted in her spot, the wheels of her mind turning.

"Melia! We need to leave!" Tyrea hollered as she leaned out the window of the vehicle.

The Empress shook her head and turned back to the Villa entrance. She could not leave, not yet. Closing her eyes, ignoring the pounding of her heart, Melia summoned her ether once more. If they were forcing her out, they would not lay hands upon her family's heirlooms.

Emotion bled away. Peace and calm flushed through her body. Green flames flared to life, sprouting mere inches from her feet and skyrocketing to the top of the Villa's walls. She spoke the words of the spell in her mind, repeated them over and over again in a chant. Her blood hummed, keeping in time with her rhythm. Each time she spoke the spell, the flames multiplied. Expanding, growing into a barrier that encased the Villa entirely.

"Melia, don't!" Tyrea shouted.

It was a warning Melia ignored though she trembled knowing what was next. There was a reason that protection spells such as these were banned. Desperation in a crisis led one to do drastic deeds.

She stuck her hand in the flames.

Searing pain shot through her. Melia screamed. Heat engulfed her hand, the fire melting her palm. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her body contorted in agony, pleading for her to pull away.

Yet she did not. The spell was not complete until her signature was given. To become unbreakable, to keep all others out it needed a piece of her. Her cries of anguish filled her ears. Her vision blurred as she watched the flames shift from green to blue. Sweat dripped down her forehead and her knees shook. She was still crying. The torture was unbearable, she swayed on her feet but she had to wait, she had to wait until...

The flames turned purple.

She yanked her arm out. Gasped.

Her left hand was an angry red, smoking. Bleeding along the creases of her palm and fingers. Ether flames were not like regular flames: there was no charring or blackened burned skin. But she knew her hand sustained serious damage all the same.

"STOP!"

Melia froze. The High Entia male barreled out of the airlift, his guards on his heels.

She was out of time.

The Empress grabbed her suitcase with her good hand and ran for the shuttlecraft. Her feet pounded the grass, closing the distance between herself and freedom. Her legs burned, her body weak from her injury. She dared a look over her shoulder. The High Entia male and his guards pursued, gaining with each second.

"YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE!" He roared.

No, no, no. It could not end like this.

She called upon her ether. With her injured hand, she threw lightning at them. Scattering them across the courtyard. Searing pain ripped through her and she faltered, but she pushed forward, only steps away from the shuttlecraft.

Tyrea flung the door open and Melia slid in, cradling her injured hand and shutting the door.

"I'll show you uncivil, you swine," Tyrea spat and yanked on the lever, plunging the shuttlecraft toward the High Entian male. Yelling, he dove out of the way and Tyrea cackled. She gunned the engine and zoomed upward into the open sky away from the enemy.

Exhaling, Melia looked down at her injured hand. It was bleeding more so, red rivers spurting from an open gash in the center of her palm. With her right hand, she called her ether and whispered, "Summon Aqua." Cool relief rushed through, painting sea greens and blues over her wound. Gradually, the bleeding stopped, but the gash remained an angry red. A blood promise. A piece of her flesh tied to the protection spell on the Villa, only to return to her once she undid it.

"That was idiotic. They could have captured you!" Tyrea snapped.

"I couldn't let them have the Villa," Melia answered.

"Why? It's just a place. Filled with things! It's not worth your life."

"You know it is more than that."

Tyrea scoffed but did not respond.

Melia tore her eyes away and looked out the window as the shuttlecraft passed above Alcamoth. A half-hour ago she was in a meeting regarding trade relations with Colony 9. Twenty minutes ago she had been pulled into a special conference with her Vizier. Fifteen minutes ago she learned it was a coup d'etat. He and the other members of the cabinet regarded her as a failure and demanded she abdicate. Ten minutes ago she was running for her life. And now…

Now she was a fugitive. An enemy of the state.

Were they right to remove her as Empress? Was she too weak to lead the High Entia into the new era?

How was that possible? Every waking moment of hers was devoted to bettering her people's livelihoods. Tyrea often told her that she needed to slow down and make time for her own self-care. How could she be such a poor influence when her whole life was devoted to the well-being of her people? It simply did not make sense.

She was supposed to be the _Hope of the High Entia_. Her destiny was to lead her people. But she had failed. She had failed her father and her brother and the many generations of Antiquan leaders before her.

She laughed, her voice cracking into a sob. God, it was pathetic. _She_ was pathetic. Maybe this was right; she had failed so spectacularly as a ruler that she deserved this exile. The last of the Antiquan line and she had tainted her family's legacy. She deserved this.

A hand squeezed her knee. Melia followed the arm to its owner. Tyrea's gaze was...soft. A rare occurrence. "We will be back. We will return and remove those bastards and take back what is rightfully yours."

Mutely, Melia nodded. Tyrea waited for a second longer, waited for her to respond in kind, but when she did not, the High Entian removed her hand and refocused on piloting.

Quiet, Melia leaned against her window and watched the city grow smaller and smaller in the passenger window. Watched her home disappearing.

No, it was her home no longer. They had stripped that from her too. They had taken her crown. They had taken her people. They had taken her home. She had nothing.

She was nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! This may or may not be the prelude to my next long fic after I finish Scions... who knows? ^_~


End file.
